Eccentric Seeming Emotions
by Laeta
Summary: Multiple spoilers. [GrissomCatherine] Tonight, something had changed and he sincerely cursed the near perfect memory that made his job easier while his heart became a wrenched mess.
1. Lonely

Disclaimer: It's been a year; hopefully by now everybody knows: _CSI: Crime Scene Investigation_ does not belong to me.

Author's Note: For Mr. Hathaway; for b8kworm and Sun Mee who give me nothing but support. For Mark, I count everyday of my life with you in it as a blessing; always remember that. For the people who do or ought to belong to nagging.com - Angie, Manda, Marianne, and Rita. Will you ever cut me some slack? Thanks, Mena, for the song. Many, many thanks to Beth for permission to use _Bleak_; we did it! Thank you for inspiring me. There is no chronological order to these chapters; consider it a stream-of-thought.

Summary: Tonight, something had changed and he sincerely cursed the near perfect memory that made his job easier while his heart became a wrenched mess.

Rating: PG-13

Archives: the Graveyard, mine. Anybody else, email me.

Pairing(s): G/C

Spoiler(s): None.

..... ..... .....

Title: Eccentric Seeming Emotions

Author: Laeta  
Email: ladylaetayahoo.com

Chapter 1: Lonely (Pristine Memories)

Bleak and lonely, the depths of one's soul.

Sometimes he cursed his near perfect memory, honed by years of skill, training, and habit. At those same times, he hated his attention to detail that kept memories fresh in his mind. Then he would regret his tendency of aloofness towards life in general. Finally, he would come full circle and remember why she was no longer merely a phone call or a short drive away, and he would rail against the almost photographic quality of the pictures behind his eyes.

He could recall the relaxed set of her shoulders as she readied for another shift as a criminalist. He could trace the curve of her back from memory as well as from dreams but never in reality. The cock of her hip fascinated him as she would turn away from the coffee machine and towards the comfortable embrace of a chair. The shift of her hair as she conferred all her attention to him when he entered the room to distribute the night's assignments. Night after night, the same routine and nobody else ever noticed.

Sometimes it changed when she made him coffee. Once in a while, she would stroll into his office some time before the official start of their shift and hand him that steaming cup of caffeinated beans. Then they would share a few minutes of companionable silence before she spoke her mind. He could not count the times she shocked him with bouts of thoughtfulness and a gentle, subtle sort of strength. Moments like those, before shift, settled him like nothing had before and unnerved him like nothing else.

And who could forget the way their gaits matched as they walked side by side. He probably never would understand the skip of his heart as they moved together towards yet another crime scene. A slight alternation in the air besides him was the only information he needed to know who occupied that space and time to his side. Within a nanosecond, he would know her mood by the manner of her breathing. It was automatic that he would attempt to comfort, to assuage, to understand, and to encourage.

Never would he consider trying to temper her emotions; she lived in a world of feeling, flying from one sensation to the next - that was her nature. He envied her versatility. Next to her constant companionship, he valued her brutal honesty. Truth be told, he was embarrassed to realize, without it, he would rarely remember the realm of emotions. He was honored that she chose to reveal that facet of herself to him, however ironic it may seem.

Long and hard, he considered the revelation of another facet of hers - the heartbreaking look of desperation and vulnerability. In those moments, her biggest strength was his physical being and his control, which he gave gladly. Without reservation, he watched as his closest friend emerged from his cocooned protection a butterfly with vivid brilliance. Her troubles were gone and conquered, she exuded confidence and grace; the men around her struggled to remain indifferent. Those she included in her life found themselves wanting to secure this newfound beauty and who could blame them?

Then, there was him. With her protection safely in others' hands, where did that leave him? Above all else, he wanted to embrace her into his very soul so nothing more could ever harm the fragile strength of his friend. He needed to bring light and fire back into her life and a quietly voiced instinct told him love was the answer. He hoped to find the courage to love her.

However, feeling was what brought him trouble so he relied more strongly on the evidence of the five senses. He could see the light that he remembered so fondly return for brief moments whenever she spoke of her daughter. No one could doubt the special love between mother and daughter existed and would endure over time. No matter how he arrived, he concluded the same: love was what she needed and that scared him completely.

Now, he no longer had to worry about her happiness. This evening, she walked into his office and the light was burning so lovely in her eyes. How he made it through the past ten hours he would never know, but he felt the magnitude of his lonesome years. All encompassing desolation and loss filled his psyche; he sighed and resigned himself to the resurfacing of various other memories from this past decade or so.

Tonight, something had changed and he sincerely cursed the near perfect memory that made his job easier while his heart became a wrenched mess.

..... ..... .....  
© RK 25.Feb.2003


	2. Help

Disclaimer: It's been a year; hopefully by now everybody knows: _CSI: Crime Scene Investigation_ does not belong to me.

Author's Note: For Mr. Hathaway; for b8kworm and Sun Mee who give me nothing but support. For Mark, I count everyday of my life with you in it as a blessing; always remember that. For the people who do or ought to belong to nagging.com - Angie, Manda, Marianne, and Rita. Will you ever cut me some slack? Thanks, Mena, for the song. Many, many thanks to Beth for permission to use _Bleak_; we did it! Thank you for inspiring me. There is no chronological order to these chapters; consider it a stream-of-thought.

Summary: Tonight, something had changed and he sincerely cursed the near perfect memory that made his job easier while his heart became a wrenched mess.

Rating: PG-13

Archives: the Graveyard, mine. Anybody else, email me.

Pairing(s): G/C

Spoiler(s): None.

..... ..... .....

Title: Eccentric Seeming Emotions

Author: Laeta  
Email: ladylaetayahoo.com

Chapter 2: Help

Bleak and lonely, the depths of one's soul.  
The deep abyss of emotion shattered before them in one explosive cry for help.

He remembered one night, years ago, when Catherine had failed to come to work. She never called to explain her absence and his repeated tries to reach her went unanswered. Worry had given way to panic hours earlier; Gil was out the door and halfway to her house by the time shift concluded.

Parking at the curb of her house, he shivered at the too still air. It was broken by the shrill cry of a baby, filled with need and hoarse from too long neglect. Gil hurried to the front door and tried to suppress the thought that he had come too late.

The crying continued; Gil gently tried the doorknob. It turned easily.

He pushed the door open slowly and debated on whether to draw his gun. In the end, he did not, compromising on simply unbuttoning the restraint that kept it snug in its holster.

Walking silently into the house, the crying increased, and Gil noted the complete disarray of the house. Dirty dishes, toys strewn across the floor, dust floated everywhere. Where was Catherine?

He found baby Lindsey in her crib, wanting her mother. She did not notice him in her wailing. Angry at the conditions he found, he forewent Lindsey in favor of a confrontation.

Desperate to find Catherine, Gil turned from the nursery and continued down the hall to the master bedroom. There she was, asleep, completely oblivious to the world and her baby's needs.

"Oh, Cath." Gil knelt at her side, seeing the evidence of exhaustion lining her face.

She was dressed for work in conservative slacks and shirt; a case file rested haphazardly on the floor by her relaxed hand. Nearby, friction had stopped the roll of an uncapped pen. He forgave her immediately, shifting the ever growing pool of anger towards Eddie. Perhaps the correct question was: where was Eddie?

Standing, Gil managed to cover Catherine with a blanket, retrieving the case file from the floor and capping the pen. He carried both objects with him as he shut the bedroom door quietly behind him. He left them besides other work related items on the desk in the living room and focused his attention on Lindsey.

He professed absolutely no skill in tending a baby, but necessity dictated that he do something. So, he improvised as he went along and soon enough, Lindsey cooed happily at him. He brought her with him to the living room and deposited her in the playpen.

In the kitchen, he counted dishes for at least a few days. He quelled another wave of charged irritation directed towards Eddie. Yet, he also berated himself. How could he have let things reach this low?

Finally, the kitchen as neat as can be, Gil joined Lindsey in the living room. He talked to her as he righted the storm there; she followed his movements and stared in fascination as his voice apparently pleased her. Once finished, he gave in to temptation.

He picked up Lindsey and cuddled her to him as he relaxed on the sofa. Lindsey gurgled as she found small delights in Gil's hair and face. For just a moment, Gil closed his eyes and imagined another man's reality was his own.

Then, he slipped asleep.

.....

Lindsey woke him as she squirmed in the safe restraints of his arms. Automatically, Gil moved to ease her struggle and prevent himself from harming her. Once his eyes opened, he saw why she was so eager to leave him: Mommy.

Catherine sat across him, amazement softening her features before she reached for Lindsey. Gil carefully relinquished the baby and she wasted no time in lavishing Lindsey with love.

A moment later, she touched his knee as she rose to walk past him. "Don't go anywhere."

Gil watched her with his eyes until she disappeared into the nursery. Exiting, Catherine's next stop was to retrieve a bottle and she settled onto the sofa next to him.

"I'm sorry, Gil. I let you down."

Gil negated her strongly, surprising her with the vehemence. Still, contrition remained; it hued her cheeks like blush.

"Cath, I just wish I didn't have to find out like this. I know you need rest, but it didn't have to come to this!" He sighed, touched Lindsey's cheek gently. "She could have annoyed the neighbors, you know, until they decided to call the police."

Catherine hugged Lindsey tightly. "What do you think they would've done? Would they take her away from me?"

Gil refused to answer.

"Damn it, Gil. I need to know."

He sat forward and covered his face with his hands. "Based on what I saw this morning, I think so."

She exhaled slowly. Lindsey had finished her bottle and Catherine carefully burped her before Lindsey clamored for Gil again. He accepted her and played with her since it meant he could avoid her mother's eyes.

Then, Catherine leaned forward, resting her head against his shoulder.

"Thank you for coming this morning."

"You know I would do anything for you. You just have to ask."

"Gil, I'm so sorry. Next time, I will. Promise."

He looked sharply at her. "Do you think there will be?"

Her smile shone through her words. "Maybe not for something exactly like this, but I'm realizing that I will always need you."

As much as her words did alleviate his worry, Gil felt resignation. Why did he have to need her, too?

..... ..... .....  
© RK 30.Mar.2004


	3. Screams

Disclaimer: It's been a year; hopefully by now everybody knows: _CSI: Crime Scene Investigation_ does not belong to me.

Author's Note: For Mr. Hathaway; for b8kworm and Sun Mee who give me nothing but support. For Mark, I count everyday of my life with you in it as a blessing; always remember that. For the people who do or ought to belong to nagging.com - Angie, Manda, Marianne, and Rita. Will you ever cut me some slack? Thanks, Mena, for the song. Many, many thanks to Beth for permission to use _Bleak_; we did it! Thank you for inspiring me. There is no chronological order to these chapters; consider it a stream-of-thought.

Summary: Tonight, something had changed and he sincerely cursed the near perfect memory that made his job easier while his heart became a wrenched mess.

Rating: PG-13

Archives: the Graveyard, mine. Anybody else, email me.

Pairing(s): G/C

Spoiler(s): Lady Heather's Box.

..... ..... .....

Title: Eccentric Seeming Emotions

Author: Laeta  
Email: ladylaetayahoo.com

Chapter 3: Screams

Bleak and lonely, the depths of one's soul.  
The deep abyss of emotion shattered before them in one explosive cry for help.  
The screams - love is life; love is lost.

He was gone, truly out of her life. Cold and interred the usual six feet below a tombstone. So why did Gil not feel glad for a good riddance?

Last night, he had lost and loneliness had won. His own bed remained undisturbed as he lay in another woman's bed, in her arms. All he had to do was close his eyes and a dream came, unbidden.

She had understood, even encouraged him to role play, and she had played the role of his dream. For Gil, he should have been ashamed at how easy it was to pretend, to replace Lady Heather's face with Catherine's as the hours passed.

He knew he had called Catherine's name at the moment of climax. Lady Heather, he remembered, only smirked and nodded. He hated the feel of transparency more than he minded his own physical nakedness.

She invited him to her bed and he slept; he slept like the dead. So far gone, Gil dreamed the nightmare before he realized it as one.

.....

These days he and Catherine either argued or ignored each other. Both managed to confuse him out of his usual comfort zone. He did not understand what had happed to their relationship and ease.

He found himself across from her, blocked by a doorway; it was open but not for him. She had fire in her eyes and poison filled her words.

An infinite number of bleeding wounds ate at his patience, his reserve. What was going on?

He understood quickly when she said, "It's over."

Just like that, the relationship of his dreams became nonexistent. Heart already in pieces, it disintegrated into dust. Yet, he could not leave things, he need something - anything.

"Will we still be friends? Can we still be?" he asked quietly.

"We aren't now," she said.

Gil winced and accepted his failings as a lover, but more importantly, as a friend.

"Don't you want to know why?" Eyebrow arched, she mocked him.

Gil surrendered himself to her; he always had been under her power. Even when she did not want him any longer, he could not stop a reaction so ingrained within him. He nodded.

"I don't need you anymore. Goodbye, Gil."

She shut the door in his face; no slamming, no hesitation, just an ordinary act of closing a door. It took him a moment to see that he stared at his own door, the door to his own privately sanctuary - home. The implications heralded a rush of emotion.

He screamed, "No!" and frantically tried to gain access again. Nothing worked.

.....

Lady Heather shook him conscious and promptly returned to sleep at his assurances. He stayed awake, thinking.

She shut him out with his own door. His own door. An open door was an opportunity; had he passed one where Catherine was concerned? It would explain the closing.

What was the significance of the door being his? Well, doors separated inside from outside, public versus private. Gil's eyes widened and his heart rate increased.

Oh, his door held a secret; indeed, it did.

It kept his love for Catherine from the world. It was his one beacon in a sea of loneliness. And yet, it was something he was aware of everyday, privately acknowledging it with every breath of his life.

Was that it? Gil slid spinelessly along the warm sheets of the bed. He never had the courage to take that next step, to stop the loneliness. Had he inadvertently killed the very thing that kept him alive? Probably, his mind told him.

Regardless of when the opportunity had been, all that mattered was his lack of taking it. Regret died before it could overwhelm him.

Gil whispered her name and refused to shed a few mournful tears for his own stupidity.

..... ..... .....  
© RK 30.Mar.2004


	4. Quake

Disclaimer: It's been a year; hopefully by now everybody knows: _CSI: Crime Scene Investigation_ does not belong to me.

Author's Note: For Mr. Hathaway; for b8kworm and Sun Mee who give me nothing but support. For Mark, I count everyday of my life with you in it as a blessing; always remember that. For the people who do or ought to belong to nagging.com - Angie, Manda, Marianne, and Rita. Will you ever cut me some slack? Thanks, Mena, for the song. Many, many thanks to Beth for permission to use _Bleak_; we did it! Thank you for inspiring me. There is no chronological order to these chapters; consider it a stream-of-thought.

Summary: Tonight, something had changed and he sincerely cursed the near perfect memory that made his job easier while his heart became a wrenched mess.

Rating: PG-13

Archives: the Graveyard, mine. Anybody else, email me.

Pairing(s): G/C

Spoiler(s): Inside the Box.

..... ..... .....

Title: Eccentric Seeming Emotions

Author: Laeta  
Email: ladylaetayahoo.com

Chapter 4: Quake

Bleak and lonely, the depths of one's soul.  
The deep abyss of emotion shattered before them in one explosive cry for help.  
The screams - love is life; love is lost.  
The reckless tumble of eccentric-seeming emotions quake as they erupt to the surface.

He knew what to do the instant she discovered his secret. After so many months of vacillating between options, the active effort invigorated him.

With one person 'in the know' so to speak, he headed for the other individual he respected: Al Robbins. No words needed to be exchanged; it was a silent appraisal, man to man - entirely professional while altogether personal.

Examination complete and arrangements made, Gil waited for the end of shift.

.....

Gil alternated between twiddling his thumbs and swinging his legs simply to pass time. He hated the act of waiting; it seemed as though he had spent his whole life in waiting. Waiting to grow up and to be considered mature enough by society to handle his own affairs. Waiting for the acceptance of forensics as a mainstream procedure in law enforcement. Waiting for happiness - waiting for Catherine to appear in his life. Waiting for Eddie to be an ignorable factor, for the pain of his death to fade.

He was a patient man and a reasonable one; you win some, you lose some - he knew that adage intimately. He only wished he had won the more meaningful of waiting races.

Well, why not try again? Why not try wishing, just one last time, for Catherine to appear in his life? What was one more self-directed disappointment among a plethora of others?

He nearly fell off the examining table.

Their conversation was a meaningless triviality; the most important aspect of this conversation had been over and done with the moment she appeared framed by the doorway. Like most things between close friends, words confused issues; the silence of support was the only element that had weight without the moral trappings.

Was there a better way for Catherine to show that she cared but by coming to see him? Of course not. Now Gil knew why he had let slip the location of his surgery. She was too good an investigator not to be able to find the details of his appointment.

He felt relief in that brief moment surrounded by her arms; so easily his fantasy of life with Catherine crashed through the gates restraining them and swept through his mind. And Gil suddenly knew why poets and artists loved to be in love. For where else does inspiration lay but in the form of a woman? To think, once, he had cursed this intoxication.

Yet, as he walked down the hallway, Gil intentionally did not ask if she would be waiting for him when he woke.

.....

He woke to slightly, blurred vision. It took him another moment to answer the doctor's questions, but he managed; then, he focused beyond the doctor to a familiar face. He stared until the doctor, finally convinced of his complete return to awareness, left to attend another patient.

"You're still here," Gil stated.

"I had to be."

He gazed at her a little more suspiciously. "Cath - Why are you really?"

"You were there for me when I had nobody; I've never taken that moment for granted. Look, I had to return the favor. Just accept it."

Gil smirked. He had not intended to rile her but, now that it had happened, he did not resist savoring it.

Catherine merely glared at him; mockingly, of course. Then, she seated herself in a nearby chair and claimed the remote control.

"I get first pick. Shall we rot our brains with daytime soaps, talk shows, or cartoons?"

..... ..... .....  
© RK 03.May.2004


	5. Fall

Disclaimer: It's been a year; hopefully by now everybody knows: _CSI: Crime Scene Investigation_ does not belong to me.

Author's Note: For Mr. Hathaway; for b8kworm and Sun Mee who give me nothing but support. For Mark, I count everyday of my life with you in it as a blessing; always remember that. For the people who do or ought to belong to nagging.com - Angie, Manda, Marianne, and Rita. Will you ever cut me some slack? Thanks, Mena, for the song. Many, many thanks to Beth for permission to use _Bleak_; we did it! Thank you for inspiring me. There is no chronological order to these chapters; consider it a stream-of-thought.

Summary: Tonight, something had changed and he sincerely cursed the near perfect memory that made his job easier while his heart became a wrenched mess.

Rating: PG-13

Archives: the Graveyard, mine. Anybody else, email me.

Pairing(s): G/C

Spoiler(s): None.

..... ..... .....

Title: Eccentric Seeming Emotions

Author: Laeta  
Email: ladylaetayahoo.com

Chapter 5: Fall

Bleak and lonely, the depths of one's soul.  
The deep abyss of emotion shattered before them in one explosive cry for help.  
The screams - love is life; love is lost.  
The reckless tumble of eccentric-seeming emotions quake as they erupt to the surface.  
We fall.

He found her through two glass walls where she leaned over the lighted table of the layout room. She was intent on the evidence strewn before her, oblivious to his own concentrated scrutiny as though glass really does diffuse intensity. Ever the scientist, he noted her casual outfit with some amused sense of detachment, committing the colors and style to memory. He noticed with more wariness the tiredness no amount of skillful makeup application can hide.

Then, he wondered what interrupted her slumber. On a whimsical breath, he ignored the tug that her culprit was the same creator of his dreams. With a ruthlessness that still shocked him, he took an imaginary weed whacker and cut the train of thought right to its roots. Wanting simply to stop thinking, he aimed for something that would occupy a full one hundred percent of his considerable mental capacity - paperwork.

Yet, even mentally fatigued, it did not stop the dreams nor the whisper of sensations so real that he wakes expecting her warmth. Why would tonight be any different anyway? Physical exhaustion does absolutely nothing to fight them, dulled senses by other means serves only to heighten the dreams' reality.

So why exactly does he not do the single thing guaranteed to stop the dreams? It is because he cannot find himself worthy of her. She is his goddess of vibrancy, warmth, grace, and perfection; Gil learned his lessons well: only pain is delivered for touching such elevated creatures. He also refused to completely stop the dreams because they were the solitary times he was with her, and as much as he wanted her in reality, he would join her any way he could.

This being the case, he arrived at the precipice where he longed for sleep to arrive and the false realities it promised. He dreaded closing his eyes since the time would come to open them again and face the knowledge within his heart. Waking alone every evening and realizing his subconscious images were merely that - images - he would vow never to sleep again. Still, he always granted its arrival.

Another night, this time he watched her from the corner of his eye. Keeping her in his peripheral vision was a skill nurtured and perfected over the many years. It was as simple as breathing now and aided by the fact that red has the widest field of vision of all three colors. He caught easily the red in her hair as she moved through the crime scene - bending over a dented piece of wood, the blood drops beneath it, following the trail the evidence clearly told as the timeline.

Tonight, though, there was no fatigue; she hummed to herself as she worked, not realizing as she made her way through _Symphony Number Nine in E Minor_. He remembered vividly that night so long ago, when he introduced her to Antonin Dvorak. It was love at first sight.

A few years since, they went to a performance and Catherine had wept for the heartbreaking beauty of the piece. She was not alone; so many of their companions in the audience also shed a few silent tears. Afterwards, they strolled along the street, heading for the Strip. Donned in evening wear and the desert night chilling their breaths, they ducked into the casino bar. That was the first time he had met Sam Braun, who guarded Catherine so protectively. She smiled, ever willing to indulge him.

When they stepped back into the cold, his car was waiting and warm; she tipped the valet for the efficiency and the extra touch. Home was a few miles away, and they drank coffee, relaxing for the rest of the night. He could not remember if they fell asleep but, from that night, he knew the texture of her skin. It slowly drove him mad.

Even as he dreamed those torturous fantasies, his memory always inputted the satin smoothness of her skin. Memorized by the pads of his fingers, he cursed the innocent massage that plagued him still. More than that was the sensory overload she caused when she leaned against him as the sun rose. Pale yellow deepened to gilt gold, highlighted the skin her dress did not cover.

He lost the ability to move on that night.

..... ..... .....  
© RK 20.Dec.2003


	6. Carcass

Disclaimer: It's been a year; hopefully by now everybody knows: _CSI: Crime Scene Investigation_ does not belong to me.

Author's Note: For Mr. Hathaway; for b8kworm and Sun Mee who give me nothing but support. For Mark, I count everyday of my life with you in it as a blessing; always remember that. For the people who do or ought to belong to nagging.com - Angie, Manda, Marianne, and Rita. Will you ever cut me some slack? Thanks, Mena, for the song. Many, many thanks to Beth for permission to use _Bleak_; we did it! Thank you for inspiring me. There is no chronological order to these chapters; consider it a stream-of-thought.

Summary: Tonight, something had changed and he sincerely cursed the near perfect memory that made his job easier while his heart became a wrenched mess.

Rating: PG-13

Archives: the Graveyard, mine. Anybody else, email me.

Pairing(s): G/C

Spoiler(s): None.

..... ..... .....

Title: Eccentric Seeming Emotions

Author: Laeta  
Email: ladylaetayahoo.com

Chapter 6: Carcass

Bleak and lonely, the depths of one's soul.  
The deep abyss of emotion shattered before them in one explosive cry for help.  
The screams - love is life; love is lost.  
The reckless tumble of eccentric-seeming emotions quake as they erupt to the surface.  
We fall.  
Our life is our love and we have nothing without it; a mere carcass of emptiness.

He watched the sun's rays lower by tiny increments through the slits of the curtain blinds. It started in the far corner of the room and slid its way down the bare white walls. Jumping atop the bed, the patient only turned towards the warmth, not bothered in the slightest by her companion.

It crept up the bed, intending to crown her head with a halo of clean brightness; it stopped, fascinated by the myriad of hues coloring her hair. The rays spent long minutes simply selecting this strand or that one; Gil jealously blocked its entrance into the room.

His shadow disrupted her sleep, but she smiled up at him, still tired from her ordeal.

"Hey. How do you feel?"

"Like I lost ten pounds and twenty years off my life."

Gil smiled, appreciating the humor that was so much a part of her personality. He reached out and grasped her hand to give her an anchor simply because he could.

"Have you been here all morning?"

"You know me. Wouldn't be anywhere else."

Catherine smiled gratefully. He watched the play of sunlight on her face as she indulged in a few brief seconds of gratitude before letting clouds cover her fatigue-opened eyes.

"Is he here?"

He tightened his hand about hers. "He called me a few hours ago; he'll be here. I promise."

She nodded, lips contorting gradually to suppress the tears. Reflexively, Gil's hand floated to her face and soothed the stress lines; he selflessly gave comfort - at his own expense.

"Cath, he'll be here. Don't let yourself think of anything else; trust me, okay?" She nodded beneath his hand. "Good. Get some rest, there's a little angel who will want to see you bright and early." There, he managed to evoke a genuine smile from her.

When her breathing evened, Gil knew it was time to go. His watch showed him Eddie was due to arrive and he had promised to meet the new father. A soft tap alerted Gil to a presence beyond the door. It was Eddie.

Although Gil could see the rumpled clothing, the askew hair, and the wide-eyed sleepless look in Eddie's appearance, Gil was not one to resist a little malevolence. After all, he had not slept either.

"Eddie. Where've you been?" he asked, keeping his voice low-keyed and monotone.

"I came as soon as I heard! C'mon, Gil, give me a little slack, will ya? She wasn't due for another week!"

Gil only raised an eyebrow. "You should've been here last night, not me."

"I know! I know." Eddie glanced warily at the closed door. "Is she awake?"

He sighed and answered. "I'm sure she wouldn't mind waking up for you."

Eddie all but sprinted for the door. Just as he turned the knob, he paused and looked at Gil, directly in the eyes.

"Was it difficult?"

As much as Gil wanted to ply on the guilt, there was feeling behind those words - mostly fear, some contrition. He took the middle ground:

"No, but it would've been easier with you here."

Eddie nodded his thanks and disappeared into Catherine's room; Gil instinctively prevented the door from closing completely in Eddie's wake. He could hear the distinct shuffling as Eddie sat on the edge of Catherine's bed as well as his greeting to her.

Feeling his heart slowly realize the truth, Gil pulled the door shut until the quiet click resounded in the empty hallway. He nodded to the nurse on duty and made his way to the viewing room.

.....

He gazed at Lindsey Willows, not even twelve hours old, as she slept blissfully. With her arrival, Gil had to accept the truth: proof of Catherine's love for Eddie lay with Lindsey.

Before today, Gil could ignore the marriage and pretend that he still had time to feel out his relationship with Catherine. Before today, he could convince himself that he still had the freedom to deepen the ties between them; all he needed was the right impetus. Before today, he could dream there was a beautiful future for the two of them, just waiting for him to declare it so.

After this moment, Gil knew he always would be a friend to Catherine. After this moment, he knew that he would never find another woman worthy to take her place in his heart. After this moment, the future would be uneventful in its solitude.

However, he knew one thing would happen: he would love another woman, but one who would not take his heart. She was Lindsey and Gil vowed in his soul to protect her as best he could. After all, he was the first man to hold her. It entitled him to a few privileges. Right?

..... ..... .....  
© RK 02.May.2004


	7. Tears

Disclaimer: It's been a year; hopefully by now everybody knows: _CSI: Crime Scene Investigation_ does not belong to me.

Author's Note: For Mr. Hathaway; for b8kworm and Sun Mee who give me nothing but support. For Mark, I count everyday of my life with you in it as a blessing; always remember that. For the people who do or ought to belong to nagging.com - Angie, Manda, Marianne, and Rita. Will you ever cut me some slack? Thanks, Mena, for the song. Many, many thanks to Beth for permission to use _Bleak_; we did it! Thank you for inspiring me. There is no chronological order to these chapters; consider it a stream-of-thought.

Summary: Tonight, something had changed and he sincerely cursed the near perfect memory that made his job easier while his heart became a wrenched mess.

Rating: PG-13

Archives: the Graveyard, mine. Anybody else, email me.

Pairing(s): G/C

Spoiler(s): Butterflied.

..... ..... ..... 

Title: Eccentric Seeming Emotions

Author: Laeta  
Email: ladylaetayahoo.com

Chapter 7: Tears

Bleak and lonely, the depths of one's soul.  
The deep abyss of emotion shattered before them in one explosive cry for help.  
The screams - love is life; love is lost.  
The reckless tumble of eccentric-seeming emotions quake as they erupt to the surface.  
We fall.  
Our life is our love and we have nothing without it; a mere carcass of emptiness.  
Our now broken soul cries and the tears are our last emotions.

He gazed at the brunette victim, beautiful, young, but who had an air of knowledge about the world. Her personal history involved more names than Gil's plethora of insect friends. A pity that she strove so hard externally to find what was missing within herself. Perhaps she was as scared as he at the answer.

The unexpected empathy towards the victim unsettled Gil. It forced him to acknowledge the employee's face his mind had superimposed upon the too still one.

Sara's disgust at his choice to have Catherine with him felt good. In all honestly, blood splatter needed its expert; a convenient excuse to hide the urge to keep Sara from the crime scene.

With Catherine at his side, with her open admittance to the uncanny resemblance, he found he could work. So, burying emotion as internally as he could, he talked and thought aloud about the scene. Save a moment's bafflement over the feminine mind and her perchance for creature comforts, Gil processed the room before he realized it.

The spare bedroom, clean, unused, but lacking the stale, musty air of neglect hid a deep secret. If walls had eyes, he knew they would reenact Oedipus's sight without seeing punishment for the horrors they had witnessed. These walls held the clue to the killer but, amidst sparkling mementos, they could not reflect life like the eyes of a living soul could.

All alone in the silent house, he listened, hoping for a moment's peace. Instead, the mirror reminded him he had work to do. So, on his hands and knees, he began a systematic process in search of trace evidence. He felt no surprise at Catherine's appearance; his unacknowledged partner in all things, she was straight and steady when he lacked a heading.

In a phrase, a thousand and one memories pushed their way to the forefront of his mind. As they did often, he and Catherine had struggled for validation on their careers, searching for evidence in contaminated crime scenes and borrowing necessities from any nearby resource. As such, he readily succumbed to the small meal that she had ready.

Sitting at a table for two beneath the moonlit night sky, he stopped mid-action as his mind connected the pieces. It was a simple explanation and one much more comfortable to him.

Again, a ghostly face flashed through his mind's eyes, so similar to the deceased victim and yet altogether not as he isolated the variants. The sweeping arch of the zygomatic bone suspended delicate skin far more carefully; lips curved in a way reminiscent of - Catherine. Brown hair on a face so similar to hers could only mean one thing:

The victim was the daughter he and Catherine would never have.

Grief broke through within him, now unrestrained, his heart having recognized the lost soul before his mind. As for Catherine, she was none the wiser as they moved indoors to examine the bed.

Case closed to nobody's satisfaction and Gil finally allowed himself to voice the power women have over men. He himself lived from moment to moment of Catherine's brief interludes as an unattached woman. He knew he would have moved heaven, earth, and hell on the frivolous wish of his fantasized daughter. The daughter he met, not on a birthing bed but on the pyre of death.

..... 

He walked a garden landscape in his dreams, turning instinctively at her call. In the distance, a blond-haired girl ran towards him. En route, her hair darkened to brown and she grew. She stopped before him, clothed in the blooming beauty of a woman.

She leaned to kiss his cheek and whispered, "Thank you, Father."

He held her desperately, in vain for all the unfulfilled wishes of his life.

Moved by love, his daughter commanded him with one word, "Cry", and he obeyed.

..... ..... .....  
© RK 15.Apr.2004


	8. Hope

Disclaimer: It's been a year; hopefully by now everybody knows: _CSI: Crime Scene Investigation_ does not belong to me.

Author's Note: For Mr. Hathaway; for b8kworm and Sun Mee who give me nothing but support. For Mark, I count everyday of my life with you in it as a blessing; always remember that. For the people who do or ought to belong to nagging.com - Angie, Manda, Marianne, and Rita. Will you ever cut me some slack? Thanks, Mena, for the song. Many, many thanks to Beth for permission to use _Bleak_; we did it! Thank you for inspiring me. There is no chronological order to these chapters; consider it a stream-of-thought.

Summary: Tonight, something had changed and he sincerely cursed the near perfect memory that made his job easier while his heart became a wrenched mess.

Rating: PG-13

Archives: the Graveyard, mine. Anybody else, email me.

Pairing(s): G/C

Spoiler(s): S4 appearance of Grissom.

..... ..... ..... 

Title: Eccentric Seeming Emotions

Author: Laeta  
Email: ladylaetayahoo.com

Chapter 8: Hope

Bleak and lonely, the depths of one's soul.  
The deep abyss of emotion shattered before them in one explosive cry for help.  
The screams - love is life; love is lost.  
The reckless tumble of eccentric-seeming emotions quake as they erupt to the surface.  
We fall.  
Our life is our love and we have nothing without it; a mere carcass of emptiness.  
Our now broken soul cries and the tears are our last emotions.  
We stay fallen, yet rummaging for hope;

He figured a radical change was due. His career was his life; suicide to think an employment change would right matters. Personality was written in stone so long ago that he failed to see how he could alter himself.

So there remained the physical: residence or appearance.

The former he rejected in his need of proximity and in hatred for the level of the drastic it produced. A nice walk in times of leisure, it was mere minutes away from Catherine's house. Both relied on the closeness, and comfort was found in the easy distance. It gave the illusion of division but hid solidarity.

He concentrated on the remaining second option, how to suit?

Gil gazed at his reflection in the mirror and examined the face that he had shown the world for so many years. Resentment spurred his fist towards the glass, but strong-willed control prevented the birth of transparent slivers. That was it; he would hide that face. In some convoluted, masquerade party way, Gil hoped it would free his inner self from the self-imposed restraints.

Maybe then he would get the girl.

..... 

He ignored her pointed looks for the first hour. He avoided her during the second and gave up when the third ticked past. The raised eyebrow was the sole invitation she needed.

In the relative privacy of his office, Catherine leaned towards him, studying his face intently. She voiced one word: "Scruff."

His lips quirked in amusement.

"It's an interesting look on you."

"You think so?"

"Yeah." She studied him even closer, bringing her hand to his face. First, she gently turned his head to look at his left cheek; reversing her actions, she concentrated her gaze on his right. "You need to trim though."

He gave her a blank look.

"To keep the growth even," she explained. "Otherwise, you look a bit on the lecherous side."

Gil rubbed a hand over his cheeks in contemplation.

"You think I should just forget the beard?" he asked warily.

She laughed and asked, "Why are you asking me? It's your face."

"You're the one looking at it." He refused to let himself think as he responded.

Catherine blinked, letting the merriment fall from her eyes. He could see the questions she was too polite to voice.

"Is this about the surgery?"

"What do you mean?"

"A new life, a new look."

He shrugged. It was enough to coax Catherine into a smile.

"I think a beard would suit you," she said softly.

"I value your opinion."

"I know." She paused before she succumbed to an enormous grin. "Besides, I think every girl needs to meet at least one lecherous, charismatic professor sometime in her life."

"Why?"

Catherine wisely remained silent.

So, Grissom tried another tactic. "Have you?"

"Oh, yeah." She sighed either dramatically or dreamily; he could not tell.

"Really." The word invited her to disclose.

She grinned and sailed out the room. Her parting words floated behind her. "You're the only one I've seen with a beard whom I'd love to see with one again."

Gil leaned back in his chair, feeling the ghost of her fingers against his face. It was only a start but it was a far cry from anything he had previously. At this point, he would take anything.

He nodded, more to his thoughts than to the casual beckoning Greg pantomimed as he passed the open doorway.

Change was good.

..... ..... .....  
© RK 26.Apr.2004


	9. Scrap

Disclaimer: It's been a year; hopefully by now everybody knows: _CSI: Crime Scene Investigation_ does not belong to me.

Author's Note: For Mr. Hathaway; for b8kworm and Sun Mee who give me nothing but support. For Mark, I count everyday of my life with you in it as a blessing; always remember that. For the people who do or ought to belong to nagging.com - Angie, Manda, Marianne, and Rita. Will you ever cut me some slack? Thanks, Mena, for the song. Many, many thanks to Beth for permission to use _Bleak_; we did it! Thank you for inspiring me. There is no chronological order to these chapters; consider it a stream-of-thought.

Summary: Tonight, something had changed and he sincerely cursed the near perfect memory that made his job easier while his heart became a wrenched mess.

Rating: PG-13

Archives: the Graveyard, mine. Anybody else, email me.

Pairing(s): G/C

Spoiler(s): Early Rollout and Getting Off.

..... ..... ..... 

Title: Eccentric Seeming Emotions

Author: Laeta  
Email: ladylaetayahoo.com

Chapter 9: Scrap

Bleak and lonely, the depths of one's soul.  
The deep abyss of emotion shattered before them in one explosive cry for help.  
The screams - love is life; love is lost.  
The reckless tumble of eccentric-seeming emotions quake as they erupt to the surface.  
We fall.  
Our life is our love and we have nothing without it; a mere carcass of emptiness.  
Our now broken soul cries and the tears are our last emotions.  
We stay fallen, yet rummaging for hope;  
A scrap of our shattered self.  
--- Bleak by Bethany Evans

He stopped just within the lobby and trained his gaze on the sleek convertible idling at the curb. Pausing only a moment to appreciate the vehicle, his gaze transferred its admiration to the slim, feminine form walking towards it. Gil arched an eyebrow as he noted how well the figure fit the car; it was a perfect match.

He did not recognize the man, but he would know Cath anywhere - be it her voice, her presence, her scent, or her form - he would know.

Separated once again by their glass walls, Gil felt confident in his isolation to drop a few mental walls. She never looked back on the regrets filling her life; there was no reason she would look back for him when she had happiness directly in front of her.

He unintentionally lowered a few more barriers, a cascade starting in response to the initial allowance. Then, a few more disappeared from his armor. Soon enough, he was left with only one barrier preventing him from a broken heart.

Gil felt wave upon wave of unfamiliar sensations crash upon his mind. He intuited their nature but was at a loss of naming any of them. At once powerless in their wake, he reeled in confusion at the energy flooding his body. It drummed his blood to act, to do something - anything - to prevent Catherine from leaving his sight.

His hand made it to the push bar on the door before he stopped himself.

Jealousy. Loss. Need. They were but a few sensations spurning his forward movement.

It was too late. Catherine was gone; the car had disappeared into the waning night as Gil fought his inner battle.

Gil nearly sank to his knees as solitude became loneliness.

And he knew he should have been able to predict this moment. The moment when these emotions would be his downfall; it was why he had avoided them all his life. They made people risk everything they had to lose and do unusual things.

Point in case? His entire life was an example of the futility of emotions, those strange entities that inspired and motivated, pained and bewildered.

He wondered how he lived so many years thinking he was outside their reach when, all the while, he had reacted as they had dictated. Or more specifically, he had reacted on the dictates of a particular woman's emotional wishes: one feeding off the other, except now, she no longer needed him to sustain herself.

He had to stop himself emotionally, as he had physically, from always looking to her for that missing aspect of himself.

He needed to move on, to move beyond this truce between desire and habit. Knowing full well what the repercussions were, Gil was determined to break his heart. It was the only way he knew to find a sense of self independent of Catherine.

..... 

He drove on a whim with his windows rolled down to listen to the city's pre-dawn sounds. It was hushed, not quite the full-volumed hustle and bustle one associated with Las Vegas at night, but it directed his drive all the same. Gil followed the initial impulse, which had propelled him away from the lab, away from his home. Especially away from that monumental catalyst of his decision.

He spotted that car with its female passenger idling at another curb, u-turned, and slowed to a stop some distance from it. She rested her head on her hand, and the breeze gaily played with her hair. Her companion exited the quaint boutique with a small bag dangling from his fingers; Gil heard her laughter even at this distance.

The man did not rejoin her in the car, instead leaning against it where Catherine sat and waited for him. She accepted the bag from his hand; Gil fervently wished she would smile like that for him. Someday, if he was brave. Never, if he was realistic.

Attention caught again, Gil watched in cathartic suspense as the man leaned down to kiss Catherine. Gil knew he would not make the same mistake again; he would accept all he had not during her relationship with Eddie. It broke his heart, but he managed to continue his drive without indulging in the desire to approach the couple.

..... ..... .....  
© RK 03.May.2004


End file.
